Stand With Me
by Zalynn
Summary: Sometimes the difference that a split-second makes can change everything.  A/U Caskett -  Rated T for what may come later.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer**: _Castle_ belongs to ABC. The characters are not mine, but I still like to play around with them every once in awhile when I'm bored and waiting for the summer hiatus to end.

**Author's Note:**

This is a Caskett, A/U short story based on the events of "Knockout", the season three finale.

I'm currently trying to decide whether or not to make this a One-Shot. I guess reader response will dictate what I do and where I might go from here. I have more than a few plot points up my sleeve for this one, but I'm not a big fan of writing just for myself, so if you like it and want me to write more, please review. Reviews are food for the starved creative mind, and I haven't found time to write for a few years now, so I'm pretty much ravenous. Also, please forgive me if the writing seems a bit rusty. I'm greasing up the mental gears as we speak. I rate this story as "T" not so much for what it is, but for what it might become.

I hope you enjoy.

* * *

><p><strong>Stand with Me<strong>

The storybooks – at least a large portion of those written in the last half-century – are filled with vivid and varied descriptions of the pain associated with the initial impact of the bullet. An explosion. A searing agony. A jolt of electricity followed by a bolt of lightning.

The storybooks are wrong. There is no pain associated with the initial impact.

The sound of the initial impact, however, is a bit disconcerting. Rather like that of a stitching awl puncturing a thick piece of leather at a high rate of speed – a sick, muted thump. The initial shock, too, is oddly short-lived. The "I've-Been-Shot!" realization is quickly followed by a mental chastisement along the lines of, "Of course, you've been shot, you idiot! You knew the risk."

But there is no pain … at first.

Then the jackhammer _ratta-tat-tats_ inside the bones, the bomb explodes deep inside the chest, and roadside flare burns the flesh from the inside out.

All. At. The. Same. Time.

Everything slows down. The storybooks have that right at least. So does Hollywood for that matter. It's almost laughable, it's so cliché. Don't want to laugh, though. It's hard to laugh when it feels like your very soul is on fire.

I stare blankly at the sky. Maybe it's the sky. Hard to tell. It might be the grass. Something's wet. It's early yet, though. Still dewy in places. I'm cold in spite of the fire. Why am I cold?

"Don't go! Stay here!"

I feel the dew drip and slide down my cheek. Soothing heat against the deathly chill born of a raging inferno. Warm dew? Does dew even drip? How odd. Good line, though. At least there's no "writhing in pain." One cliché is bad enough, but two … Besides, hurts too much to writhe. Hurts too much to move. To think. To breathe. Maybe if I stop trying the pain will stop, too.

"Oh no, you don't! Breathe, damn it! C'mon!"

Need to breathe. Gotcha. One … two … Oh God! It hurts! Three …

"BREATHE!"

Agonizing, stabbing, gasping … glorious air!

"Good! Good! That's good. Keep breathing!"

Keep breathing. Always good advice. Where'd it come from, though? Who's talking? It's nearly impossible to hear anything over the sound of blood rushing through my ears. How much is rushing out of my body? I hear someone screaming my name … I think. It's far away. Sounds familiar. Young voice. One I love. Not the one that wants me to breathe, though. I'll keep breathing, but … 'm tired. Long week. Didn't get much sleep with all the drama. Just going to shut my eyes a minute …

"NO! C'mon! Don't leave! Stay here. Stay with us! "

Stay with whom? Voice is familiar. Maybe I'll remember it after a nap …

"Open your eyes! Don't do this, please! The ambulance is almost here!"

Ambulance? Who's hurt? The agony in my chest flares as warm, gentle, glove-sheathed hands slip under my neck, cradling my head. Oh, yeah! Hurt. That would be me. Next year, celebrate Chinese New Year somewhere _other_ than beneath my sternum. Too many damn fireworks going off in here. Used to love fireworks. Now, not so much.

Silk brushes against my cheek, the dew falls again, and I smell … cherries?

"OPEN YOUR EYES, DAMN IT!"

Can't ignore that voice any more. Know what'll probably happen to me if I try to. No fun, there. 'sides, don't wanna cause any more grief this week. Too much going on as it is. Can't see much, though. Blurry. Need to look into getting glasses, I guess. Damn. Too young to be old …

"Stay with us."

I blink, hard. Eyes finally focus. It wasn't dew. Tears slip from grass-green eyes as they stare into mine.

Kate.

I want to say her name, but my lips won't move. I cough three times, each one more violent that the last. The pain erupts again. The blood is acrid in my mouth, but it is tempered by taste of her tears. Her cheek is smeared with blood. Mine probably. Her hair has come loose from the bun she had styled beneath the uniform cap she wore for Roy's funeral. Must've happened when I tackled her. Sorry 'bout that. Had to do it, though. A long, mahogany lock tickles my cheek. So, it was silk, after all.

"Stay with me, Castle," she whispers in my ear. "_Stand_ with me."

Have always stood with you, Kate. Need to know that. I try to rise up against the strong hands that hold me, but nothing seems to be working right. 'S okay, though. She's _holding_ me!

"Shhh … Castle, please."

Need to tell her so much. Why won't the words come? Need that nap. Tell her later …

"Stay with me, Castle."

Wanna stay, but need sleep … to be strong. Protect you. Protect 'lexis. Mother. Boys. Lanie. You're worth it … you're all worth it.

"Castle!" She looks scared. Kate's never scared. 'S not right. Shouldn't be scared 'bout me.

"Don't leave me, please. Stay with me, okay?" Her whispers have become a plea, but I can't give her what she wants. She shakes me a bit. Runs her fingers across my cheek. Don't really feel it. Bet it feels extraordinary. Too numb now to feel. Can't see her anymore … getting harder to hear … so tired …

"Cas … Rick, I love you. I love you."

So, so sorry, Ka ...

The storybooks – at least a large portion of those written since the dawn of mankind's ability to put pen to parchment – are filled with vivid and varied descriptions of the sheer emotion that results when a man and a woman finally see past their fears and ultimately realize and accept the love that is in their hearts for one another. Exhilaration. Transcendent delight. Joy.

What if this time the storybooks were wrong?

* * *

><p><strong>Remember that reviews are <em>always<em> appreciated. If you liked this snippet, I hope that you'll let me know so that I'll write more.**

~ Sarah


	2. Ch 1  Comrades in Arms

**Disclaimer**: I still don't own them.

**Author's Note:** Well, I received only two written reviews - thank you both so much! - for the prologue of this story, but there have been nearly 300 hits in 24 hours, one favorite story listing, and six story update notifications, so I'm taking that to mean that there are at least of few of you who are interested in how this story plays out. Therefore, I've decided to make this more than just a One-Shot, but please, if you like what you're reading, please let me know! As I said in the previous chapter, reviews are the food of the creative writer, and though I've had a forkful of the appetizer, I'm still starving. REVIEWS! PLEASE! :) Yes, I'm begging. I admit it.

* * *

><p><strong>Stand With Me<strong>

**Chapter One: Comrades in Arms**

At the sound of the sliding doors' muffled "whoosh", seven pairs of expectant eyes looked up at the surgical nurse who entered the small waiting room. She was known to them – though most would have forgotten her name was Ana if it hadn't been stitched into the front of her scrubs – because she had been delivering regular, if not frequent updates. She pulled her cap off her head and ran a hand through her short, dark hair. Her voice was tired and serious as she said to Alexis, "Your father is out of surgery."

Like an overly full helium balloon whose lip has been untied, a collective sigh released the nearly ten hours of pent-up worry and unspoken fears that had been generated by the unusual little family who had kept vigil together, supporting one another, for what had seemed like days.

Seemingly as one, each person took a step forward from their scattered locations around the room, anticipation in their eyes. Seeing that she was about to be bombarded by questions from all directions, Ana raised her hand to quiet them before they could be asked. "The surgeons will be out within the hour to talk to you about the surgery and Mr. Castle's prognosis," she looked from Martha back to Alexis. "When I left him in recovery he was still under the effects of the anesthesia, but he was stable."

Alexis' small cry of thankfulness – the first sound anyone could remember her making for hours – brought tears to even Javier Esposito's eyes as he watched her turn again into her grandmother's comforting arms and they sat back down on the overstuffed sofa they had shared for most of the day. Jim Beckett rested a comforting hand on Martha's shoulder, and she gripped it for the support he offered.

As Ana left them to their thoughts, Esposito felt Lanie's fingers tighten around his in silent thanks that Castle had at least made it through surgery. He smiled at his girl and kissed her forehead for he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Castle would never have made it to the hospital alive if not for her efforts.

Once the initial shock of the shooting had subsided, Lanie's seldom-used trauma skills kicked into high gear, and she started barking orders to everyone around her who wasn't hunting down the sniper.

Put pressure there! Keep his airway open!

With the help of the paramedics, she had successfully re-inflated the novelist's lung while in the ambulance, and was straddled over him on the gurney performing chest compressions as it rolled into the E.R. of the Bellevue Trauma and Shock Unit at NYU.

Javier ran his finger along the V-neck of the dark purple scrubs Lanie wore – her suit had been ruined by the blood – and whispered in her ear. "Still think your talents are wasted on the living, Dr. Parrish?"

She smiled to herself and thought for a moment before looking up into his proud eyes. "For the most part, yeah … but not today."

"I'll probably be here awhile yet, Jen, so don't wait up for me. Okay, I'll do that. Love you, too." Ryan hit the "end" button on the screen, slid the phone back into his pocket, and turned towards his friends. He had been calling Jenny with updates each time they heard something new, but other than that, absolutely no information had been shared outside of the waiting room. "Jen says there's still nothing about it on the news other than that there was a shooting at the Captain's funeral," he whispered. "Nothing about it being Castle who took the slug for Beckett."

"I honestly don't see how One P.P. has kept a lid on it for as long as they have," said Lanie, a degree of amazement tinged her tone. "Montgomery's funeral was big enough news without adding the sniper shooting of a paparazzi favorite into the mix. They're not going to be able to keep it out of the press forever."

"No, not forever," agreed Esposito, "but long enough to give them a chance to get their feet back under them a bit." He nodded to where Martha and Alexis sat, their red heads each resting against the other, as they nervously waited for the surgeons to arrive with more detailed news. "The mayor's already a Castle supporter, so he'll do what's needed, and after today, so will the Commissioner."

"What about them?" Lanie asked, gesturing to the six uniformed police officers that stood guard on the other side of the glass walls of the waiting room. She knew that there were at least another half dozen scattered at the various entrances to the hospital. A sniper _had_ tried to take out another one of their own, after all. But for all that Lanie loved her boys and girls in blue, she knew that not all cops were created equal. Not all of them had the same code of honor and professionalism as did those in the room with her. The events of the last few weeks had more than proven that, and the paparazzi were known for paying _very_ well for news tips like the one they were all currently sitting on.

"Them? You don't have to worry about them," Javier assured her.

"Why not?"

"Well, for one thing, they can all be trusted," Ryan insisted.

"And how do you know that?" she demanded.

Ryan shrugged. "They're my cousins."

Lanie looked from Kevin Ryan to the four men and two women in the hall and back again to the Irish cop before her. "Ryan, Officer Thomas is _black_."

"Family isn't always about blood," Ryan said, his expression humorless.

"True enough," she said with an apologetic nod before turning back to Esposito. "And the second reason?"

Esposito tried to explain. "See, Castle's always been ours – the _12ths_. Our responsibility. Our curse. Our good fortune. _Our_ writer," he turned from Lanie to where the solitary figure of Detective Kate Beckett stood looking out the window to the darkening New York skyline beyond. She had stood there for hours, fingering a tear in the fabric of the pink scrubs she wore, only turning from the view when Laura would arrive with the latest update.

Beckett would listen, silently, to what Laura had to say and to the questions Martha, Alexis, her father, or one of the others would ask before turning back to the window once there were no more answers to the questions. Though she had spent hours staring out the window, Esposito would have bet an entire month's pay that she never once saw the traffic jammed in the streets below, the afternoon thunderstorm that pelted rain against the glass, or the daylight that slowly ebbed into dusk.

What his boss _did_ see, Esposito could only guess, but the haunted expression on her face whenever Beckett turned from the glass had in many ways left him more worried about her than the man on the surgical table down the hall. At least Castle's wounds stood a chance of being healed, but if he died, Esposito feared that Kate Beckett's never would.

"I still don't see why Castle being the 12th's writer has anything to do with being able to keep this out of the press?" Lanie demanded quietly of her lover.

"Before today he _belonged_ to us. Castle's her partner, but not in a way that any cops outside of the 12th – and even some _inside_ of it – would acknowledge. But after what he did this morning, taking a bullet to save Beckett's life –"

"Now Castle is _one_ of us," Ryan finished, gesturing beyond the glass to where the Commissioner, the Chief, and the captains of five neighboring precincts had taken up positions next to Ryan's six uniformed cousins. "Her partner in every way that matters, and they'll do whatever is necessary to protect Castle, his family, _and_ Beckett."

"The thin, blue line just got a whole lot thicker," Esposito confirmed, his voice grave.

The sliding doors whooshed again, this time admitting the three weary surgeons who had spent the bulk of their day reassembling the human anatomy puzzle that was Richard Castle, and as Beckett turned from the window to face them, Javier was again struck by the lost expression that had seemingly etched itself onto her lovely face.

Esposito gave Lanie's fingers a quick squeeze, and then he and Ryan crossed the small room to take up close positions on either side of their boss. Whatever the surgeons had to say, whatever Richard Castle's fate had in store, Kate Beckett would know that she wasn't alone. They would face all of it as they had always done before.

Together.

* * *

><p><strong>I hope that you enjoyed this installment. Beckett's thoughts are up and coming, so fear not, but please let me know <em>your<em> thoughts on _this_ chapter. :)**

**Thanks for reading!**

~ Sarah


	3. Ch 2  Rules of the Game

Disclaimer: ABC still hasn't turned the creative rights of _Castle_ over to me, so I continue to play in their sandbox.

* * *

><p><strong>Stand With Me<strong>

**Chapter Two: Rules of the Game**

On a normal day, Alexis Castle had little trouble sorting through complicated details and information. It was one of the reasons she studied as much as she did. It wasn't just the drive or the competition associated in getting the highest grade possible. She _loved_ learning. Her shrewd mind – self-admittedly not as outlandishly creative as that of her father – loved putting together seemingly trivial pieces of facts and data until order ruled over chaos and the universe made sense.

But today was not a normal day. Today, _chaos_ reigned.

She sat numbly on the edge of the waiting room sofa, and as she watched the sliding glass doors open for the departing trio of surgeons – trauma, neuro, and cardiothoracic – Alexis feared that the universe might never make sense again. Quite possibly for the first time in her life, Alexis Castle was unable to effectively categorize and analyze the mass of information she had been given.

Her father would call it "epic good luck" that his heart had been missed completely, but whether due to the hollow point itself or the shrapnel into which it had turned his ribs, the damage to his body was extensive: lacerated spleen and liver, collapsed lung, cardiac arrest due to hypovolemic shock, and a right kidney was so mangled that it had been removed. They had also removed each of the bone and bullet fragments save the one piece of metal that the neurosurgeon deemed too risky to extract, so she had kept it where it was – cozied up right next to her father's spine.

"It didn't sever the spinal cord," Dr. Herod, the neurosurgeon had reassured them, "but the tissue surrounding it has started to swell, and the resulting pressure has caused moderate bruising … " the doctor hesitated and Alexis remembered how the small room seemed to shrink around her when the doctor said, "And though it will hopefully be temporary, Mr. Castle is showing some signs of paralysis below the hips."

Alexis didn't hear the collective gasp of dismay from the others, and she caught only fragments of what else the doctors had to say. The phrases "medically induced coma" and "long recovery period" bounced off the protective shell that had slammed down around her psyche. As though through a haze, she saw the doctors leave. A small part of her felt Gran's comforting arms around her shoulders and knew that along with them came the reassuring words that everything would be okay, but too much was just _too_ much sometimes. All she could think of was her father: how he would swing her high into the air when she came home from school as a little girl, their marathon laser tag games, his annoying habit of lurking, tall and strong, behind the open refrigerator door when she was searching it's frosty depths for the answers to her troubles. The thought that he might not walk again …

Alexis felt light-headed. She could feel herself shutting down emotionally, mentally. It was almost as if she wasn't a part of herself anymore, and quite honestly, she was past caring right now.

"This is my fault."

What? _What_ did she say?

It wasn't so much Detective Beckett's words that evaporated a bit of the fog surrounding Alexis' mind as it was their tone. Deep sadness and … yes, guilt. Her grandmother mumbled some sort of protest, but the guilt-laced words persisted.

"No. All of it. It's my fault! I couldn't see past my own need for answers. For revenge. I had to push, and this is the result."

Days later, when she had an opportunity to reflect on her reaction to those words, Alexis was in more than a little bit of awe at the speed at which she went from clouded confusion to blind rage.

"How dare you!" Alexis growled at Kate. She ignored her grandmother's protest of surprise, sprang up from the sofa, and stalked across the room to where Beckett stood between Ryan and Esposito. Her red-rimmed blue eyes flashed with anger as Lanie and Jim Beckett each grabbed an arm to restrain her. Beckett, however, stood her ground, more than ready to face Alexis' anger.

The way Kate figured it, she had more than earned the young woman's contempt and hatred, and truthfully, nothing Alexis thought or said about her could surpass the things Kate had already thought about herself.

She was wrong.

"How _dare_ you let them get inside your head!" Alexis raged, pulling with surprising strength at the arms that held her. "How dare you let them make _you_ the guilty one! You do that, and everything my dad did today means _nothing_!"

"Wha … what?" Kate actually retreated a step in the face of those words. Words she had not prepared herself to hear.

"This is no more your fault than it is mine. _You_ didn't pull the trigger!"

"I made myself a target. I made all of us targets," Kate protested.

"_They_ made you a target because they're cowards." Some of the anger went out of Alexis, and she stopped struggling; Lanie and Jim eased their hold on her, hands loosely encircling her forearms.

Kate choked back tears and pointed fervently in the general direction of the operating room. "Castle paid the price for _my_ choices." Ryan and Esposito each took a step back from their boss, uncertain about what to do.

"Bullshit!"

"_Alexis_!" Martha's tone was a mixture of condemnation and pleasure for although the grandmother in her felt that she should at least sound vaguely disappointed in the girl's choice of language, Alexis simply _never_ swore, and Martha couldn't help but feel a little bit proud of her.

"My father makes his own choices, Detective Beckett. Nobody _ever_ chooses for him," Alexis said, her eyes filling with tears. She stepped closer to Kate, reached out, and took her hand. "Today he _chose_ you."

"Alexis is right, my dear," said Martha as she approached the pair. She reached out and brushed away a lock of hair that had escaped from the haphazard ponytail Kate wore. The motherly gesture was one Kate hadn't experienced in far too long, and she felt the tears well again. Martha then rested her palm against Kate's cheek and looked deeply into her sad, green eyes. "For all that Richard is New York's oldest Peter Pan, when you get right down to it, he has always had his priorities straight. No one can cajole or manipulate him into anything he isn't willing to do himself, and he will always protect those he cares about … those he loves."

"I, I …" Kate struggled with the words. "At the cemetery, after he was shot, I told him –"

Martha pressed two fingers lightly to Kate's lips to silence her. "Shhh, darling. I know. I heard, and I have faith that _he_ did, too." Kate chewed at the inside of her lip, somewhat embarrassed at having been overheard expressing feelings she was still trying to adjust to and reconcile within herself. "Have no doubt, there are more dark days ahead for all of us," Martha continued, "but we will be strong for Richard and each other. Otherwise _they_ win."

Alexis sighed and looked up at Kate. "I won't lie. It could be _really_ easy to hate you right now, to blame you, but that's what they would want, isn't it? I'm not going to give them that. Why are you? If there's one thing my dad taught me, it's that if you have to play somebody else's game, make sure you play by _your_ rules."

"How did Castle manage to have a teenager like that?" Ryan whispered in disbelief to Esposito.

"Where did he get a _family_ like that?" Javier corrected. "Cool, but _not_ normal."

"_So_ not normal," Ryan agreed.

"Excuse me." The hospital volunteer in the open doorway turned everyone's attention away from the emotional conflict resolving itself in the center of the room. "Mr. Castle is being moved to the Critical Care Unit. If you'd like, I can escort all of you to a more comfortable waiting area where you can get something to eat and rest a bit until you're able to see him."

"Thank you, my dear," Martha said. She smiled once more at Kate before turning to pick up her bag from the sofa and sweeping her arm about in a grand motion to indicate the room at large. "Everyone get your things. It's time for our little drama to change setting." For the first time Kate noticed the exhaustion in the older woman's eyes. Her face was strained, weary, and she looked much older than her 60-odd years. For all her largess of compassion, it was clear to Beckett that Martha, too, was close to the edge but forcing herself to be stalwart for her granddaughter and for all of them.

As the rest of the group followed Martha and the volunteer out of the waiting room and past the entourage of police guards, Alexis tightened her grip on Kate's hand.

"When it's time, you'll go in with us?" She suddenly sounded very young and afraid; a far cry from the enraged young woman she had been just a few minutes ago. The tone of it unsettled Kate for it reminded her of her own voice on that horrible night long ago when she was told that her mother was never again coming home. The night that had started everything.

Castle had once told Kate how much Alexis looked up to her, and Kate had long since felt that Alexis saw her as something of a surrogate mother. Now the girl was all but alone, and it was clear she was scared, though she said nothing. Kate's own father had been too distraught by the loss of his wife to be of any support to his daughter. Kate vowed to herself and to Castle that she would be there for _his_ daughter, giving Alexis as much care and strength as she had to offer until such time as Castle was able to fill that role again himself.

"Of course I'll go in with you," Kate said softly. She hesitated a moment before continuing. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"Being just as annoyingly hard-headed as your father is."

A ghost of a smile curled the corners of the girl's mouth, "I learned it from the best."

Beckett let a wide range of memories that she had been suppressing all day slip back into the forefront of her mind, and she smiled. "Yes. He is."

* * *

><p><strong>Thank you all for the reviews on the previous chapter. I was very excited to get them. I hope that you enjoyed this chapter as well. Please let me know.<strong>

**I will do my best to update at least once a week - twice if I'm able to get all of my grading done.**

**Thank you for reading!**

~ Sarah


	4. Ch 3  The One He Saved

**Disclaimer: Not mine. Bless ABC!**

**Author's Note: My apologies for taking a bit longer than I intended to in writing this chapter. This week my mother suffered a minor stroke (she's only 64), so I found myself visiting her in ICU. Thankfully, she is well on the road to recovery, but it was still a blow to my family. I am so grateful that she's going to be okay. I had already started this chapter before she fell ill, but writing it became personal very quickly.**

* * *

><p><strong>Stand With Me<strong>

**Chapter Three: The One He Saved**

Kate Beckett woke with a start and instinctively reached for the weapon on her hip, but a soft touch on her wrist stayed her hand.

"Easy, Detective. You're safe."

Kate blinked twice to adjust her eyes to the half-light of hospital room and immediately recognized the silhouette of Virginia, the Head Nurse of the graveyard shift, standing over her.

"Is Castle …" her eyes widened with panic and immediately sought out the figure of the man on the bed across the room.

"Mr. Castle is fine," Gin's calm voice reassured her. "You were having a nightmare."

Beckett breathed a sigh of relief and eased back into the chair she had been sleeping in. She rubbed her eyes wearily and cleared her throat. "I'm sorry. I hope I didn't wake anyone."

"You weren't loud enough to be heard outside of this room," Gin promised and handed Kate a cup of ice water. "I was checking Mr. Castle's vitals when you became restless. I thought it better to wake you rather than let the demons continue their torment."

Kate drank gratefully from the cup. Her throat was raw from the day's emotions, and the ice water acted like a soothing balm. "Thank you."

Gin watched as Kate took another long sip from the cup, assessing her fluid intake. "You're welcome. There's more in the pitcher next to you."

"Not just for the water."

Gin nodded gravely. She had been a critical care nurse for over 20 years, had seen some of the most horrific traumas that could be inflicted on a human body, and yet it was often the emotional damage that was the most long-lasting – especially for the patient's loved-ones. And from what Gin had heard of the events at the cemetery that morning, it was little wonder that Detective Beckett was already experiencing nightmares.

"How is he?" Kate asked, turning her attention back to Castle.

"He's doing as well as can be expected right now. Dr. Herod has ordered another MRI tomorrow to check on the pace of the swelling near the spine. Blood pressure and pulse ox are good. Temperature's a bit above normal, but according to his mother, Mr. Castle has always run a little hot."

Kate nearly choked on the water she had been swallowing. She coughed raggedly in an attempt to clear her throat, and Gin looked at her with a raised eyebrow when the young police detective started to laugh. "It's just that Castle has spent the last three years trying to convince me of _my_ 'hotness'," Kate said, attempting to explain the inside joke.

Gin appraised the sleeping man's face. While she had read each of the mystery writer's books, she had never met him in person. She wasn't one to stand in line at book signings and certainly didn't party at all the New York hot spots that a famous novelist playboy might frequent. Nevertheless, now that Gin took the time to actually look at him, she noticed the vast difference between the photo-shopped publicity photos that adorned the back of his novels and the man himself. It had nothing to do with the subdued hospital lighting, the tubing of the ventilator that breathed for him, or even the effects of the heavy sedatives that kept him in the medically induced coma. Richard Castle's face was a very human one. Very real. And if the reactions and comments of his family were anything to judge by, he was a very loving and charismatic man.

"I wouldn't say 'hot'," Gin finally said having completed her assessment. "More like …"

" … ruggedly handsome," both women said at the same time.

Kate and Gin smiled at one another, and Gin allowed herself a small chuckle before she collected her kit of supplies, PatientTrak computer, and headed for the door of the private room. She had gotten Detective Beckett to laugh. Always a good sign. In her mind, in CritCare, it was just as important to tend to the family as it was the patient. "I've requested a tray of food for you from the night kitchen. Eat, and then get some rest," she ordered in such a voice that Kate knew it would be pointless to argue. "Tomorrow will likely be another long day."

Leaning her head against the cushioned headrest of the overstuffed lounger – the Critical Care Ward clearly spared no expense for the comfort of its patients or their visitors – Kate closed her eyes and considered the nurse's parting words. Another long day in a week of endless days. How much more could any of them take before they broke completely?

Alone with her thoughts, it wasn't long before the ambient noises of the room caught her attention. She opened her eyes again and stood. Ice chips rattled against plastic as Kate set the empty cup she had been clutching in her hand on the table next to the water pitcher and approached the side of Castle's hospital bed.

Hours earlier, Kate had entered this room at the side of Castle's mother and daughter. Her right hand still ached from Alexis' death grip at seeing her father for the first time since the shooting. Though she was nearly an adult in age, all of the young woman's childhood fears of losing the parent she loved the most came flooding to the present. Alexis' body trembled with nervous energy, and the black dress she wore served only to heighten the pallor of her skin. As she lurked at the foot of the bed – fearful of getting too close – Kate thought that she looked far younger than her 17 years.

Thankfully, Lanie had had enough foresight to predict the teenager's reaction and had joined them for the first visit, gently explaining the purpose of all the tubes, wires, and drips that were connected to the young girl's father. The respirator is definitely scary looking. The medications keeping him in the coma depress his breathing to the point that he can't breathe for himself, so the machine takes over until he wakes up. No, it doesn't hurt him at all, and if it did, Castle would probably wake up from the coma long enough to complain about it.

Alexis' hold on Kate's hand eased incrementally through Lanie's tutorial, and by the time the ME had finished, Alexis had released Kate's hand to cautiously approach her father's bedside to gently take his instead.

Kate's eyes welled with tears at the memory of Alexis', "I love you, Daddy."

Esposito and Ryan visited for just a few minutes, chiding the comatose man for not being smart enough to tackle Beckett at the legs instead of at the waist and avoid getting shot altogether. Jim Beckett entered awhile later and stood silently next to the bed, his keen eyes weighing every inch of the man who had risked his life to save Kate's. After what seemed like three forevers to Kate, Jim rested his hand on Castle's shoulder.

"Thank you, Rick," he said, his quiet voice nearly impossible to hear over the _whoosh-hiss_ of the respirator. "Thank you for my daughter." Jim's tone was tinged with both sorrow and gratitude, and it was all that Kate could to swallow her tears at the sound. Martha and Alexis were not so successful.

Esposito and Lanie had escorted the pair of exhausted women home a few hours ago and would stay the night inside the loft. A pair of Ryan's "cousins" would stand guard outside until such time as private security could be arranged for the two women's safety. All had agreed that though Kate had clearly been the sniper's target, they could not assume that Castle wouldn't have eventually become a target himself. After all, the author _had_ kicked the hornet's nest of conspiracy that was Johanna Beckett's murder, and the criminal mastermind at the center of it was bound to harbor a few resentments. The chilling fear was that if "they" couldn't kill Castle, what better way to make him suffer than to go after his mother and child? The detectives of the 12th simply weren't willing to take that chance.

"You sure know how to stick your foot in it, Castle," Kate said to him, fingering the textured plastic of the hospital bed's guardrail for a moment before she pressed the button to lower it. He remained motionless in the bed save for the rhythmic falling of his chest caused by the _whoosh-hiss_ – _whoosh-hiss_ of the ventilator. However, after three years of witty banter with the man on all manner of subjects, Kate could all but hear his rejoinder.

_What'd you expect me to do?_

"I don't know, Castle. Maybe leave well enough alone?"

_It was killing you, Kate. Not knowing._

"Better me than you."

_I don't accept that, Kate. Besides, this isn't exactly how I pictured it would turn out when I tackled you._

"Why, Castle? Why'd you do it?"

_Had to._

"That's not an answer, and you know it."

_You know why._

"_Tell_ me!"

But the ghosts of conversations past would reveal only so much to Kate. Some answers – those to the most difficult questions – would just have to wait.

Kate studied his face as shadows played hide and seek with the light of the monitors that flashed their myriad colors and displays. A long scratch marred Castle's skin from just below his right eye to the corner of his mouth, and there was some slight bruising across that cheekbone. Kate wished she could say that he just looked like he was sleeping. She had seen him asleep before, and Kate could see none of the relaxation and peace that settled into his face when he slept. In spite of the medications that had sent him into the netherworld of the coma, there was a noticeable tension in the muscles of his forehead and neck, and the tightness of his mouth had nothing to do with the intubation tube that ran from his throat to the machine that breathed for him. No, Kate had seen this look that night in the warehouse freezer where they nearly froze to death in each other's arms. Richard Castle was waging an internal battle to stay alive in spite of the odds.

Her hand trembled with indecision for a moment before Kate reached out to caress Castle's chin with the back of her fingers. She smiled slightly at the stubble that was forming there. It only added to the "ruggedly handsome" moniker that Castle was so fond of throwing around. The pads of her fingertips traced the strong line from his jaw to his ear and slipped gently into his hair. She had touched him this way only once before, but she had been so caught up in the intensity of their kiss and the feel of his mouth on hers that she couldn't remember if his hair had been this soft. Kate leaned over and pressed a lingering kiss to Castle's temple. The slow rhythm of his pulse beat against her lips, and she rested her forehead against the side of his head. She breathed in the scent of him – that uniquely Castle smell blended with the less soothing antiseptic scent of the hospital – and then with practiced fingers, she removed the leather band at her wrist without looking, slid her hands down Castle's forearm, and buckled her father's watch around his wrist.

For the one he saved.

"It's not your time yet, Castle. You hear me?" Kate whispered in his ear. "It's _ours_ … so don't blow it by dying on me."

Kate pressed another kiss to his cheek before pulling a chair closer to his bedside. She rested her head against it's back, and after a few moments fell asleep to the rhythmic sound of the ventilator – Castle's fingers lightly clasped in hers.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note<strong>: I'm sorry if you find any inconsistencies with details in this chapter and canonical events from the show. I'm still catching up on several episodes that I missed during seasons one and two, so any errors are purely from ignorance rather than a deliberate attempt to screw things up.

In any event, I hope you have enjoyed this chapter. As always, reviews are SO wonderful! Please let me know what you think.

~ Sarah


	5. Ch 4  Caffeine and Crime Scene Photos

**Disclaimer: Not mine, but I oh so wish they were.**

* * *

><p><strong>Stand With Me<strong>

**Chapter Four: Of Caffeine and Crime Scene Photos**

"So where do we stand?" Kate asked, sipping from her eighth – or was it ninth? – cup of coffee of the day. She, Ryan, and Esposito sat huddled around Castle's dining table examining the crime scene photos from the funeral that were scattered across its polished surface. The Chief had put her on an indefinitely leave of absence until such time as the shooter and the person who hired him could be apprehended. Beckett was officially off the case. Unofficially, however … well, that was another story.

Nevertheless, it was the first time since the disaster at the cemetery that Beckett had left the confines of the hospital, but only because Martha and Gin had tag-teamed her earlier that evening to make sure she got some real sleep.

"You look a fright, my dear," Martha had said with a critical eye as she assessed the rumpled clothes that Kate had been living in for the last two days. "That lovely Dr. Parish brought some of your things to the loft earlier today, and Alexis put them in the guest room at the top of the stairs. Go and get some rest and something to eat. I guarantee that Detective Ryan's cousins will keep a close eye on all of us while you're gone."

Kate was far more comfortable giving orders than taking them, but when Gin threatened to strap her to a bed with an Ambien IV, Kate knew she was beaten. She had gotten to know the graveyard shift nurse quite well over the last few nights, and though she was pretty sure Gin took the words of the Hippocratic Oath as her only law, Kate wasn't willing to bet her life on it.

"We're creatures of the night around here, Detective," Gin had told her with a wicked smile the night before. "And strange things can happen in the dark." So when the nurse, backed by an insistent Martha Rodgers, had waved a capped, but full, syringe in her general direction, Kate grabbed what few items she had, and with her pair of cousins in tow, relocated to Castle's loft where the trio of detectives had agreed it made more sense for her to stay if for no other reason than to concentrate the protective detail around Kate and Castle's family.

"It's been over 48 hours, and we're pretty much nowhere." Pure frustration rang in Esposito's voice. "The weapon's a modified Mark 11 sniper rifle, but it's clean for prints. Serial number has it registered to a Navy Seal named …" he checked his notepad for the name, "… Martin Holst who was killed in action seven years ago. Holst's body was recovered on a subsequent mission, but his weapon was missing."

Kate picked up a handful of the photos and began thumbing through them until she found the sequence of stills depicting the rifle. "Any trace DNA?" she asked.

"Lab's still working on it, but they're not optimistic."

"What about the groundskeeper?"

"Typical situation of 'eyes wide shut,'" Ryan complained. He searched through a couple of the case folders on the table until he found what he was looking for, a three-page list of names of people who were at or near the funeral at the time of the shooting. "Dozens of eyewitnesses who say they saw a groundskeeper ducking behind a headstone right after the shot, but not a single one of them can give us a description solid enough to put together a useable sketch of the guy."

"The grounds crew insists they weren't working in that area," Esposito clarified. "Nothing was scheduled until after the Captain's funeral had ended when they'd cap the grave."

Kate flipped to a photo of the distant headstone behind which the sniper had taken his shot. She ran her fingers lightly across the smooth finish of the paper as if to etch the memory of it into her mind. "So this groundskeeper is our shooter," Beckett said, more to herself than to the guys.

"For all the good it does us, yeah. The man's a freakin' ghost," Ryan ran a hand through his hair and sighed.

Beckett looked up from the photograph in her hand to the two men who sat across from her. Her eyes narrowed as she considered them. Esposito looked haggard and worn and probably hadn't shaved since the shooting. Ryan was at least trying to keep up appearances, but his eyes were heavy, and the dark circles under them looked as though they had been painted on with a smudge brush. Each looked like they had aged 10 years in the last week.

"When's the last time either of you slept?"

"I dunno. What day is this?" Ryan asked with a half-chuckle of amusement that wasn't meant to be funny.

"Go home. Both of you," Kate ordered. She gathered all the photos and the rest of the files as she stood from the table. "You're not doing yourselves or the investigation any good as tired as you are."

"Like you're any better," complained Esposito. "You've been running on nothing but caffeine and stubbornness for two days."

Longer, Kate thought. She hadn't had a full night's sleep or a decent meal since Lockwood escaped custody, but she wasn't about to admit that to the boys. They would take it as tacit permission to go longer and farther simply because she had.

"Yeah, well even I'm crying 'uncle' for now. I don't want to see either of you for at least 24 hours," she said and pointed at the front door. "Home. To Bed."

"Yes, Mom," they said in unison. Each grabbed his jacket from the back of the couch and headed for the door.

"Hey, Esposito. Ryan." They turned and waited for her to speak, but Kate was suddenly overwhelmed with emotion over everything these two men – her brothers – had done for her in the last several months. 'Thank you' seemed grossly insufficient, but no other words would come.

They didn't need to. The two men saw in Kate's eyes that which she was unable to convey through words, and it was enough. They each nodded their understanding and appreciation with a half-smile, opened the door, and were gone.

Kate turned slowly and surveyed the now empty living space. With her grandmother taking the night watch at the hospital, Alexis had apparently long since gone to bed. In fact, Kate hadn't seen the teenager since she had left Castle's bedside shortly before the dinner hour. Over the last few days, Alexis had spent as much time with her father as her Gram would allow, but both Kate and Martha could sense that she was close to her breaking point. The façade of strength and maturity that Alexis had been hiding behind since the shooting was starting to crumble, and the reality of a scared little girl whose father lived at the center of her world was incrementally exposed.

Alexis had grown more and more frustrated with the doctors and their seeming inability to give her the straight answers she so desperately needed; even when Dr. Herod had finally given them a cautious "a few more days" in response to Alexis' "When are you going to wake up my Dad?" the teenager had stormed angrily from the Critical Care Unit. Martha finally found her an hour later, alone in the Atrium, staring at a ladybug encamped upon a hibiscus leaf. Her eyes were red from crying.

Suddenly, the loft – which had always felt so welcoming to Kate, full of the life and love of the family who lived there – felt cold and distant. Alien. Everything that had made this loft a home had been tossed about, uprooted from the known and tossed haphazardly into uncertainty. Clutching the bulky case folders to her chest, Beckett drifted to the open doorway of Castle's study. If the kitchen – where the small family so often gathered to share food, advice, and experiences – was the heart of the home, then this office – and the fantastical musings of the man who toiled at his laptop behind the desk – was its soul.

Kate hesitated. This was Castle's sanctuary. His escape into the worlds of his own creation. She almost felt as if she would be betraying a trust by entering uninvited, but her need to feel closer to him – no matter how illogical it might seem – pushed her across the threshold.

The painting of the never-ending stairway that hung on the wall behind his desk drew her in as it always did. It was an optical illusion, of course, designed to make the modestly sized room seem much larger than it actually was, but how easy it would be to lose oneself in its endless possibilities. Something she was sure Castle did on a regular basis.

He had left a jacket on the back of one of the oversized leather chairs that sat in front of the desk. Kate recognized it immediately. It was the one he had worn that night he came to her apartment. The night he asked her, begged her, to walk away from her mother's case to save her own life. The night she had told them they were through.

Kate set the files she held on the desk and picked up the jacket. She pressed the soft suede to her cheek and inhaled. It smelled of eucalyptus, mint, and cedar – the trio of scents that were uniquely Richard Castle. The scents that had at first annoyed and distracted her, before comforting her, and, finally, enticing her.

Kate slipped her arms into the sleeves and shrugged the jacket over her shoulders. Though she was almost of a height with its owner, the fabric hung loosely on her much smaller frame. Wandering to stare out the windows into the dark, rainy New York night beyond, Kate grabbed the edges of the cuffs with the tips of her fingers, nestling them into the supple leather, crossed her arms at her waist, and wrapped herself in memories.

"And what about you, Castle?" She had demanded of him that night when he mentioned the affect her death would have on the people who loved her.

"Of course I don't want to see anything happen to you. I'm your partner … I'm your _friend_," he insisted, but she could tell he was holding something back.

She pushed.

"Oh, is _that_ what we are?"

She had watched his expression turn from one of concern and fear to anger and contained frustration. "All right, ya know, I don't know _what_ we are. We kiss, and then we never talk about it. We nearly die, frozen in each other's arms, and we never talk about it. So, no, I've got no _clue_ what we are."

She responded by calling him a child.

He pushed back. Accused her of using her mother's murder as an excuse for not living the life she was meant to live, and Kate saw red.

"You don't know me, Castle. You think you do, but you _don't_"

"I know you crawled inside your mother's murder, and didn't come out. I know you hide there, like you hide in these nowhere relationships with men you don't love. You could be happy, Kate. You _deserve_ to be happy," she had failed to hear the compassion in his voice, "But you're afraid."

His words had struck home, so she had lashed out. "What we are, Castle, is _through_! Now get _out_!" It wasn't what she had wanted to say. Kate had regretted the words as soon as the door to her apartment closed behind him, and the fact that she didn't go after him was something that she would always hate herself for doing.

The next time she had seen Castle was in the darkened helicopter hanger when he had carried her away – kicking at him and pleading with Montgomery – to safety. He had trapped her between his body and the door of the car outside the hanger, whispering comforting words, pleading with her to stay quiet, while Montgomery made his final stand – a stand intended to atone for his sins; a stand intended to save her life; a stand that Castle had ultimately taken upon himself to complete.

Now Kate was left with the memories of all that had been left unsaid between them. Please give us another chance, she pleaded with the universe that Castle always spoke so reverently of. Give _me_ another chance.

"You were right, Castle," she said. "Iwas afraid. _We_ were afraid."

"Afraid of what?"

Kate was so caught up in her own thoughts that she never heard Alexis enter the study. She jumped and spun away from the windows to face the young woman, blushing slightly that she had been caught so unaware of her surroundings. "You're awake!"

"I was never asleep. Tried, but … it's kinda hard right now."

Kate knew exactly how hard. She looked down to check her father's watch, but remembered where she had left it. "What time is it, anyway?

"A little after three." Alexis curled up sideways in the leather chair closest to the door and looked at Kate. "Whose arms?"

"What?" Kate shook her head in confusion and leaned her hip against the corner of the desk where she had left the files. She was clearly missing something.

"You were talking to yourself. 'Nearly froze to death in each other's arms, and we never talk about it,'" Alexis parroted.

"How long were you standing there?" Kate asked. She saw the answer in Alexis' unflinching stare.

Too long.

Castle had told Beckett on more than one occasion that while he never hid anything he did with the NYPD from Alexis, he also tried not to be overly detailed in answering the questions she invariably asked. She was the daughter of a writer and had a brilliant mind in her own right; he knew that specifics would only cause her unnecessary worry, and he wanted, above all, to protect her from the dangers inherent in his research.

Kate could see in Alexis' eyes the culminating result of three years of "not overly detailed answers". She had put the pieces of the puzzle together in spite of her father's best efforts, and Kate wished that for once Castle's daughter wasn't so damn perceptive.

"How many times has my father nearly died for you?" Alexis demanded. She rose slowly from the chair and took three measured strides toward Kate who could feel the anger and tension radiating from the girl.

Kate had never lied to Alexis, and she wasn't about to start now. She stood and faced the wrath that was about to be unleashed upon her for her sins. "Too many."

Kate's head snapped back in response to the slap. In retrospect, she probably should have seen it coming, but it was so completely out of character for the teenager that she never considered it a possibility. Kate rubbed her left cheek. To say that it stung would be an understatement. Given that the girl was normally one of the most relaxed and tranquil people Kate had ever met, Alexis sure knew how to give one hell of a slap. Of course, things couldn't be any less normal right now.

"Alexis … " Kate attempted to reach out to the girl, but Alexis brushed her hands away.

"It's not enough that he follows you all over the city no matter the time of day or night, but you put him in constant danger. Guns? Drug dealers? Professional hit men? Terrorists?" Alexis' anger surged again and she shoved Kate as far away from her as she could. When Kate grabbed the edge of the desk to keep her balance, the file folders fell to the floor, and the photos spilled across the carpeting and Alexis' bare feet.

Oh, God, no! Kate thought as she watched Alexis reach for the photos. She tried to grab them, but knew it was too late.

Alexis knelt and sifted through the images. Esposito had brought Kate the _comprehensive_ files. Every lead, every detail, and every photo that was even _remotely_ tied to the conspiracy surrounding the murder of Johanna Beckett lay at their feet: Johanna's lifeless body in the alley; Coonan' carcass in the hallway of the 12th; Raglan's bloodied corpse on the floor of the diner; the torture chamber Lockwood had created to persuade Ryan and Esposito to reveal what the cops knew; Castle's knuckles that he had battered and bloodied on Lockwood's face; McCallister's death chamber; the carnage in the courthouse; the massacre at the hanger; Montgomery's lifeless face staring blankly at the ceiling; Kate's stained gloves lying in the thick pool of Castle's blood at the cemetery … and dozens more. Everything that a concerned father had tried to keep from his daughter stared her in the face in sharp, clear, digital perfection.

Kate watched a little more blood drain from Alexis' face with each new photo. "Alexis, please understand that – "

Alexis' entire body trembled as she rose to her feet to face Kate. Her hands clenched momentarily around the photos she held, crumpling them before she let them slide from her fingers back to the floor. "You bitch!"

Beckett was ready this time. She grabbed the young woman's arm mid-swing and wouldn't let go. Kate pulled Alexis to her as she raged at the detective, struggling against the embrace.

The façade then crumbled completely.

"I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!" Alexis screamed, but Kate only held her tighter. Beckett knew that the tirade was born of days, possibly years, of fear and worry. She also knew that it was only a matter of moments before the rage would turn to tears. She had been there before herself, after all.

Alexis' knees suddenly crumpled, and the two sank back to the floor. Kate cradled the girl in the circle of her arms. She stroked Alexis' red hair and murmured soothing words as she cried out all her anguish. The tears were punctuated by the occasional, "I hate him … I hate him … I hate him …" There was no venom to the words, only despair.

Kate felt her own tears begin to spill down her face at the pain in those words, yet she took up a mantra in response to the teenager's sobbing declarations. One that she knew was truer than the sun rising in the East each morning.

"He loves you … He loves you … He loves you …"

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: This chapter was a bit of a pain in the butt to write, but I think, ultimately, it works. There's a lot of angst, but given the circumstances these characters are facing, angst is what they should be feeling. I wanted to get this out before the start of the week since things are rather backed up right now with my grading, and I can't guarantee another chapter before next weekend. I do hope that you enjoy it. Please review if you do. Reviews generally spur me to find a few minutes between piles of essays to get some personal writing done.<strong>

**Thanks for reading!**

**~ Sarah**

**P.S. Fear not. We'll get back to Castle himself soon enough, but I don't like rushing things. I hate dragging things out even more, though. **


	6. Ch 5 Scherzo for Whiskey and Author

**Disclaimer: Still hoping, but no.**

* * *

><p><strong>Stand With Me:<strong>

**Chapter Five: Scherzo for Whiskey and Author**

Warm sun. Perfect white sand and sparkling blue waters in every direction. A bottle of St. Miriam's. What else could a man ask for?

Uhh … no brainer.

Kate Beckett in a red string bikini.

Kate Beckett in _no_ bikini?

No, Kate Beckett in a red string bikini. Might as well ask for something that stood a snowball's chance of actually happening.

Rick stretched languorously and reached up to adjust the angle of the umbrella that kept him partially in the shade. Nestling back into the insanely comfortable beach lounger, he couldn't remember the last time he was _this_ relaxed. He'd probably never _been_ this relaxed. A warm lassitude had settled into his bones to the point that he never wanted to move again.

He took a sip of the St. Miriam's from the cut crystal glass and groaned in pleasure as the smooth smokiness slid down his throat. Heaven! The only thing that could make this better would be …

"Your coffee, caramel, cookie crunch ice cream, Mr. Castle." The server poked her head around the side of the umbrella and set the dish of creamy goodness on the table beside him.

"Damn, you're good!" he laughed, watching the caramel ribbons ooze down the side of the frosted bowl. He set the whiskey down and grabbed the bowl and the spoon the server provided from her apron pocket.

"We aim to please, sir," she said with a smile that was strangely familiar to him.

He mumbled something that sounded like "Succeeded!" around a mouthful of the ice cream. Gotta love a resort with five-star service on the beach, he thought.

She watched him with her tranquil grass-green eyes while he tore into the dessert.

"Whiskey and coffee ice cream is a _bit_ of an atypical combination," he conceded after the first few bites.

"Unlike the whiskey and smorelette combination earlier?"

"Okay, okay … I admit it. _Not_ the flavor sensation I thought it would be."

The woman's face remained impassive save for a slight twitch of her full lips. "It's your escape, Mr. Castle. It's not my place to judge."

He flashed her that famous Castle grin. "Call me Rick."

"If you wish."

"What's yours?"

"Does it matter?" It was an odd question. He looked up at her over the top of his dark sunglasses. She was tall and slender with shoulder-length chestnut hair and those impossibly green eyes. The rich timbre of her voice, too, was intriguing. Like a timeless echo of something he had heard before but could not place.

"It matters," he insisted. "And not just because you've been bringing me my taste buds' desires for the last …" Rick struggled to remember how long he had been on the beach. It seemed like forever and yet like only a few minutes.

"I've been known by many names," she admitted, slipping her hands into the pockets of the blue pinstriped apron she wore.

A sudden, happy laugh far down the beach caught Rick's attention. He squinted, and slowly the figure in the distance, initially lost in the heat waves radiating off the beach, became clearer. Long, dark hair, an impossibly sexy body barely concealed behind the strategically placed scraps of red fabric. If it was a mirage, it was the best damn one Rick had ever seen.

"Kate!" he breathed.

"You know her?" the server asked, turning her head to assess not the woman in red, but the reaction of the man before her.

"Yes. No."

"That sounds like a definite maybe to me."

Rich shook his head to clear his thoughts. "Sometimes I feel like I've known her my entire life," he continued to stare at Kate as he answered.

"Only sometimes?"

"Other times … like I don't know her at all," Rick admitted with a touch of sadness. Something or someone in the far distance called to Kate who smiled once at him before turning and heading back the way she had come, disappearing back into the haze of sun and sand.

While Rick stared down the beach at the retreating figure, the woman picked up the red glass bottle nestled in the sand next to the lounger and poured another measure of the St. Miriam's into Castle's glass. The remains of the forgotten ice cream lay puddled in the bottom of the bowl, and Rick did not resist when she took it from his hand.

"You know her better than you think you do," the woman insisted with that puzzling smile that confused Rick a little more each time he saw it. "I'll be back in a bit with a fresh bowl," she said as she walked off down the beach in the opposite direction Kate had taken.

"Hey! You never told me your name!" Rick called after her.

She waved at him without turning but shouted back her response. "Call me Jo!"

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: A "scherzo" is a piece of music that is typically a part of a much longer work such as a symphony or a sonata. I thought that this brief Castle coma interlude fit that definition rather well. I know I promised nothing else before the weekend, but this was short and sweet enough for me to compose without sacrificing too much grading or planning time.<strong>

**I want to thank the two additional people who reviewed the last chapter, but I must say that I agree 100 percent with Ladybugbear2 who wrote, "I have but one question … why doesn't this fic have more reviews?" With nearly 5,000 hits to the story, 50 story alerts, and 22 favorite story tags, I can't help but ask the same question.**

**Trust me, my dearest readers, you have no idea how much a quick review can brighten my day. I can't help but check my phone at lunch, wondering if there's a new little tidbit awaiting me. If nothing else, it causes the students who eat their lunch in my room no end of entertainment when they hear their teacher giggling with glee over an unexpected review. But then, they think I'm nuts anyway.**

**I hope you enjoyed this little scherzo. Please let me know what you think.**

**Thank you for reading!**

**~ Sarah**


End file.
